


i need acknowledgement (if i got it then tell me i got it then)

by moons0ng



Series: what a time (to be alive) [2]
Category: Men's Basketball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, Pining (lowkey), Praise kink (also lowkey), Rough Sex, Set in 2013/14 season, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 02:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20145898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons0ng/pseuds/moons0ng
Summary: in which steph wins the game but then gets reminded who's really on top.





	i need acknowledgement (if i got it then tell me i got it then)

**Author's Note:**

> the setting of this fic is [this game in 2014](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ynzKN3zFnI)
> 
> i've been going back and watching lots of old warriors games this off-season because i am _bored_ so enjoy the second installment of this series!

He’d started off slow in the first quarter — trading shots for assists, setting up David Lee, then Draymond, watching the shots fall one after the other, bright blue jerseys standing out against the muted colors of Miami’s arena. 

The Heat wouldn’t stop coming back, though, keeping them from extending out to any sort of secure lead. They played so tough in that building, especially LeBron, who was as unstoppable as Steph expected, stretching up for a dunk early in the game that none of their defenders even attempted to contest. 

Finally, he’d gotten the opportunity to take a three, off a pass from Draymond that left him with several feet of space around him, and once he’d seen it go in, it was like he couldn’t stop. He made three after three, would end up with eight on the night, and after each one he’d had to force himself not to look over at LeBron, to see what the other player’s reaction was, to see if he looked impressed. 

The crowd was definitely impressed, he could tell by the increasing volume each time he made a shot, and adrenaline was spiking in his veins after his third three in the first quarter.

At the start of the third, he’d hit a deep two in the corner with LeBron right in his face, and had been unable to stop himself from looking back over his shoulder to meet the other player’s eyes as he ran back on defense, tossing him a smirk, even as he knew it was a bad idea. LeBron had been unreadable, standing with his hands on his hips, his team down double digits.

Then he’d hit a contested three over Wade, right in his face, shooting it from his hip, playing as hot as he ever did. He tried not to show any emotion, but it was hard to keep from celebrating, watching Draymond run from the bench almost to half-court after the shot went in. 

After the game, in which they’d been the first team in the west to beat Miami at home all season, he knew he probably should’ve celebrated with his team, probably should have accepted Klay’s offer to hang out and have drinks, play video games, but instead he found himself looking at his phone, debating whether or not to text LeBron. 

He’d just decided to give up and text Klay instead, deciding that texting LeBron after a win would come off too needy and maybe annoying, since LeBron had just lost the game, when his phone buzzed. His face turned red instantly, already knowing in his heart, before he saw the contact name, who the text was from.

_hey, you want to come by later?_, the text read, lighting up the screen, and he felt like everyone else still left in the locker room could read on his face how he felt inside, hot and erratic like a lit match. 

Steph scrambled to text back — _uh sure what time is good for you?_ — pressing send with his thumb while biting on his other thumbnail. The celebratory feeling that had flooded his body after their win refused to dissipate even as nervousness joined it. He hadn’t seen LeBron in a while, and the thought of being alone in a room with him was as terrifying as it was alluring.

Still, there was no way he would, or could, have said no. His phone buzzed, and his heart leapt. 

_bout an hour. i’m leaving now [address attached]_

Steph send back a thumbs up emoji, feeling childish as he did, hoping LeBron wouldn’t laugh at him. 

_i’ll be there_, he added after a few seconds’ thought, and tossed his phone into his duffel bag, refusing to check and see if LeBron had sent another text, already nervous enough. And suddenly, the night had become special.

An hour later found him outside LeBron’s hotel room, standing there, gathering up the courage to knock. Before he could, the door opened. Steph swallowed nervously, hands shoved deep in his pockets to hide his trembling fingers. “Hey,” he said, eyes locked on the man who stood before him.

LeBron smirked at him, taking in his anticipatory demeanor, and opened the door wide, giving Steph enough room to slide past him and inside. “Hi,” the older player said as he locked the door. “Right on time.” He was dressed casually, just in a t-shirt and shorts, but Steph still felt slightly weak in the knees.

The curtains were drawn inside his hotel room, the overhead light off leaving only the lamps to light up the room and it created an uncomfortably intimate ambiance. Steph shifted his weight from one foot to the other as LeBron walked over to the refrigerator as if he wasn’t even there.

“You want a beer?” LeBron asked, interrupting his thoughts, turning back to face him with a beer in each hand. Steph nodded appreciatively, reaching out for one, blinking away the blush that threatened to overtake his features as his fingers brushed the other player’s. “Come on,” he said, tilting his head towards the couch.

“You played well tonight. Eight threes or something, that’s pretty impressive,” LeBron said once they’d sat down, Steph on the couch across from the TV, LeBron in the cushy recliner next to it, raising his glass slightly in Steph’s direction. “And that one shot over me, that was nice.”

Steph squirmed in his seat, feeling his face turn red. “Thanks,” he said. “I—we really wanted to win that one.” He couldn’t take his eyes off LeBron for a second, drinking in his presence for as long as he could.

“And you did,” LeBron said. “But don’t expect that to happen again. I ain’t gonna go easy on you next game.” 

Steph rolled his eyes. “Y’all didn’t go easy on us this game either,” he protested. “We had to play hard to win.” 

“Yeah, I know,” LeBron said, giving in easily, taking a sip of his beer, licking his lips and hopefully not noticing how Steph’s eyes inadvertently tracked the movement. “I been tellin’ people all along you was gonna be that good a shooter. I feel fuckin’ validated now.” He laughed, tilting his head back in his chair.

“Oh,” Steph said, the sudden flood of praise catching him off guard. He’d expected LeBron to be at least a little surly, having just lost a home game to a much less experience team, but he guessed that was just part of the older player’s confidence — one loss didn’t shake him up. He knew Steph wasn’t really a threat to him, at least not once the playoffs rolled around. “Thanks, man,” he said, not sure what the proper response was to being complimented by someone you’d idolized for years. “I appreciate it, from you.”

“You deserve it,” LeBron said, taking a long drink of his beer. “Your ankles been holding up alright?” 

Steph nodded, and allowed the conversation to sink into silence, too nervous to contribute anything himself. Just being in LeBron’s presence was nerve wracking, hardly any less scary than it’d been when he was in college, shocked to even find himself in the presence of the other man.

And later, even more shocked to find himself underneath him. Multiple times, over a period of multiple years.

He shifted in his seat, his brain bringing forth images of the last time they’d hooked up, Steph on his stomach in his hotel bed, LeBron deep inside him, making him cry out as much as he’d tried to stifle the noise by planting his face in his pillow.

His face must have been getting red from thinking about it, or maybe LeBron was more perceptive than he pretended to be, because the man cleared his throat, breaking Steph from his reverie.

“So,” LeBron said, draining the rest of his beer, setting it down carefully on the coffee table in front of Steph’s feet next to his own, still full, bottle. “You miss me?” he asked cockily, leaning back in his chair, muscular legs spread in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest accentuating the sheer strength and size of him, making Steph’s stomach tighten.

“You wish,” Steph shot back automatically, unable to come up with anything better, brain on high alert. 

“You miss my dick?” LeBron countered. Steph instantly flushed all over, feeling shaky and almost sick with arousal. _Holy shit_. There was something about how LeBron just _said_ things like that, fully confident he already knew the answer, that turned Steph on like nothing else. 

It didn’t help that LeBron’s eyes were locked on his, giving him nowhere else to turn. “I—“ Steph tried to say, but it came out broken, too high-pitched. He was breathing hard already.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Lebron grinned, nodding arrogantly at him, spreading his legs more as if daring Steph’s eyes to follow his movement.

“C’mere,” LeBron said when Steph stayed frozen in his seat, gesturing to the space between his casually spread legs, leaning back in his chair with his hands resting on the armrests, the picture of arrogance. “Take your shirt off,” he said once Steph had come to stand in front of him, dick already growing hard in his sweatpants from being told what to do.

He hesitated for a split second before reaching down to grab the hem of his shirt and tugging it off over his head quickly, dropping it on the floor next to him. 

He felt like his body was on fire as LeBron looked him over, not bothering to hide it as he took in all of Steph from head to toe. Steph chewed on the inside of his lip as he stood there, waiting for LeBron to say something, to break the silence.

Then — “Get on your knees,” Lebron said, voice deep and rough, hitting Steph right in his stomach. Taking a deep shuddery breath to steady himself, he sank to the floor without a thought, knees pressing down into the soft carpet beneath. “You already know what you’re here for. Open your mouth.” 

LeBron tugged his shorts down over his hips, freeing his intimidatingly large dick, and Steph found himself scooting closer between his legs, lips parting unconsciously. LeBron smirked down at him, maybe reading something in his eyes, seeing how much he wanted this.

Steph licked his lips once before leaning forward, hands on LeBron’s thighs as he licked over the head of the older player’s dick, groaning as he sucked down a few inches, feeling it hard and heavy in his mouth. LeBron’s hand cupped the back of his head, guiding him to take more, forcing him down almost all the way.

“You—ah—you was fuckin’ made for this,” LeBron grunted out, hand squeezing around the nape of Steph’s neck. He gagged around the other player’s dick deep in his mouth, his throat protesting painfully, but he didn’t try to pull away, fingernails digging into LeBron’s hips in retaliation. “Shit, that’s good. C’mon.” 

He’d deny it, but this was one of his favorite feelings, ever, blocked in between LeBron’s legs on his knees, unable to think of anything else but trying to breathe around the other man’s dick in his mouth. Tears pricked his eyes as his mouth was forced to stretch wide to take him inside.

LeBron began fucking slowly into his mouth and Steph’s nails dug in even harder into the other man’s dark skin, keeping himself afloat while his body felt like it was drowning in an ocean of heat. One hand on the back of Steph’s head and the other gripping the arm of his chair, LeBron fucked his mouth with whatever roughness he wanted, Steph pinned in between his legs by the other man’s mass.

His own dick was growing hard in his sweatpants from the forceful treatment, but he resisted the urge to reach down and palm at it through his pants, instead focusing his energy on LeBron, hollowing his cheeks and sucking around his dick. “Goddamn, holy shit,” LeBron cursed, biting down on his lip at the feeling, and Steph felt a swell of pride in his chest.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” LeBron added a second later, fingers trailing down his cheek, and Steph felt more than pride at that, _fuck_, gasping in something like shock and sucking him down to the hilt, his stomach twisting inside out in pleasure at the compliment, wishing he’d been looking at LeBron to see the look on his face when he’d said it. _Pretty_, he’d said.

LeBron pulled him off a few seconds later, and Steph fluttered his eyelashes confusedly, looking up at him for an explanation, his untouched dick still hard in his sweats. “Don’t want to cum before I get to fuck you,” was the explanation he received. His body responded with an almost violent wave of arousal that washed over him, and he let out an audible groan, cheeks heating up as he heard it. 

“Get up,” LeBron said, and when Steph hesitated, the other man grabbed his arm and pulled him up, dragging him over to the bed a few feet away. Steph scrambled up onto it on his back when it was obvious that that was what LeBron wanted, grinning with satisfaction at having Steph fully spread out in his bed. 

He lifted his hips up to help LeBron in tugging his pants and underwear off down over his legs. “‘Bron,” Steph said, gasping, aching desperately for the other player’s hands on him. “I need—“

“What’s up?” LeBron asked teasingly as he angled his body to fit perfectly between Steph’s legs, fingers pressing against Steph’s lips to smear spit and precum over his chin, before connecting their lips roughly, pulling back the second Steph started to moan beneath him, leaving him feeling empty. “What’chu need?” 

“Need you in me,” Steph panted out._ Shit_. He knew he should have been humiliated to be so needy with such little prompting, but he knew how badly LeBron needed it to, how his dick must be painfully hard between his legs. He rolled his hips up against LeBron’s thigh to encourage him, but LeBron stopped him by pinning his hips down with a bruising grip. “LeBron...”

“I know,” LeBron grunted out, using his knee to spread Steph’s thighs, reaching down with one hand to run a finger over Steph’s hole, teasing it inside slowly, making Steph whine. “You just a slut for my dick, ain’t you?”

Steph’s mouth dropped open and his eyes shut as LeBron shoved two spit-slick fingers inside him roughly, pressing them impossibly deep inside him. He moved his hips back unconsciously to try and get them even deeper, at a better angle, moaning aloud as LeBron’s words sank in.

“I asked you a question, bitch,” LeBron said, smacking his ass, hard, making his back arch in response. He pulled his fingers out before shoving them in deep again, unceremoniously. 

“I—what?” Steph panted out, unable to remember anything all of a sudden, all his brain power focused on LeBron’s fingers inside of him. _Had he said something? _“Just put your dick in me, man.”

LeBron hit his ass again. “I said, you’re a slut for me, ain’t you?” he asked roughly, gripping Steph’s jaw tightly, making him wince. 

“Yeah,” Steph forced out, trying to reach down and grab for his dick, but LeBron immediately forced his entire body weight down over Steph, crushing him against the bed and leaving him no space to move. “Yeah, ‘Bron, please. Need you.” 

“That’s what I thought,” LeBron said. Steph could hear the smirk in his voice without seeing it. _Fuck, that was hot_. That was his last thought before LeBron shoved inside of him all at once and left him with no sanity to think at all. “Shit, you’re tight,” he continued, grunting in effort. 

Steph had no idea how the other man could find it in him to form words, when Steph himself felt like he was lucky to remain conscious —_ holy shit_, LeBron’s dick was impossibly big inside him, making him ache with the pain, trying to pull away even as he pushed back against him.

“Holy shit,” he moaned out, hands fisting in the sheets at his sides. “Fuck,” he hissed out, drawing the word out as LeBron started moving, pulling out halfway before shoving back inside. Steph felt like his body was a firecracker, the fuse already lit the second LeBron had pushed inside, halfway to exploding.

He felt like sparks were coming off his skin, LeBron muttering incomprehensible filth into his ear as he fucked into him, took him apart. The only thing keeping him grounded was LeBron’s hand wrapped around his neck, just tight enough for Steph to feel it like a brand, making him gasp for breath when his hand tightened as Steph clenched down around his dick.

It was like an out-of-body experience, like how basketball games felt when he was on fire and making every shot, like he could feel nothing and feel too much all at the same time. _”Yeah, bitch,”_ LeBron said, and they groaned at the same time as he found the right angle, making Steph shiver all over and bite down on his lip to keep from screaming.

“Oh, fuck,” Steph breathed out, eyes squeezed shut tight, muscles tense as LeBron held him down, leaving what were sure to become finger-shaped bruises on his hips and set a painful pace as he chased his release. “Ah—LeBron, I—“ 

“Yeah, you needed this,” LeBron bit out, pressing a sloppy kiss to his neck, stubble rubbing gratingly against Steph’s smooth soft skin. “Need somebody to hold you down and just—“ _Fuck._

He pulled out all the way, suddenly, before slamming back in, and Steph’s mouth dropped open, letting out a loud expletive as he flung his head back, entirely overwhelmed from the feeling. “Fuck,” LeBron said, staring down at him, eyes dark and dangerously aroused.

He could tell LeBron was getting closer as his strokes became sloppier, uneven, and Steph reached a hand down between them to grab at his own painfully hard dick, stroking it erratically in rhythm with LeBron. “I’m almost...gonna cum, ‘Bron, please,” Steph whined out.

“Yeah, c’mon, bitch,” LeBron snarled, and shoved inside him one last time before finishing, slumping forward over the smaller man’s body as his cum flooded Steph’s hole. 

Steph was jerking himself off roughly, finishing a second later, spilling onto his hand, which he wiped off messily on his stomach. _God._

“Oh my god,” he said, chest heaving as his heartbeat tried to steady itself and he breathed in a huge gulp of air, having gone almost lightheaded from LeBron’s hand around his neck. “Get off, you’re too fuckin’ big,” Steph continued, shoving at LeBron’s chest as best he could.

LeBron smirked, winking at him as he pulled out slowly, dragging a whine out of Steph, and rolled over onto his side, freeing the smaller man. “Yeah, you know I’m big everywhere, baby,” he said. Steph hated himself for blushing at that — LeBron’s dick had just been in his ass, but he’d blushed at a fucking casual innuendo.

Steph rolled over onto his stomach to hide his face, letting out an annoyed groan at the resulting pain in his worn out leg muscles. He relaxed completely into the mattress, like butter melting in a pan.

“I’m taking a shower,” LeBron announced after a few minutes of lying there seemingly comfortably. He sat up, moving past Steph, smacking the other player’s ass as he stood up. Steph let out a reluctant moan at the feeling, hating his body for its reaction to LeBron’s every touch, even casual ones. 

“‘Kay,” Steph mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, biting on his fingers to stifle the still-lingering anxiety in his body.

LeBron tossed him one last glance, raking his eyes down the slope of Steph’s spine, his curved ass and muscular legs, licking his lips in a way that had Steph’s stomach tightening. Then he shut the door behind him, leaving Steph to stare into the dim light of the hotel room, shivering now that he lacked the other’s body heat.

Once LeBron started the shower going and Steph felt comfortably alone, he wiped himself clean using the sheet, feeling only slightly guilty about it, and tugged back on the clothes he’d worn there. At least now, if LeBron kicked him out afterwards, he’d already be dressed and wouldn’t have to shamefully put his clothes back on while LeBron stood there fully-clothed as had happened the last time they’d hooked up.

The other man showered quickly and reappeared a few minutes later, towel around his waist. Steph looked up from his phone and bit his lip as LeBron walked across the room, reaching down in his bag to find something.

“Shit,” LeBron said, checking his phone, frowning down at the screen shining bright in the dim room. 

“What’s up?” Steph asked, leaning against the edge of the bed, trying to appear more casual than he felt, like he hadn’t been entirely on edge since he’d gotten LeBron’s text after the game.

“I forgot I told some of my guys I’d go out for drinks with them tonight,” LeBron said, lip curling up apologetically. “I gotta dip in a couple minutes. You got a ride to y’all hotel?” 

“Oh,” Steph said quietly, like he didn’t feel like the floor had just been pulled out from underneath him. “Yeah, it’s no problem, man. Have fun, or whatever.” 

He expected LeBron to say something else, maybe apologize again, but nothing seemed to be forthcoming. Steph took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders, and shoved his phone into his pocket, wincing as his hand accidentally brushed over his bruised hip bone. 

“Uh,” Steph said, unsure. Was he supposed to leave? “I’ll see you around, I guess,” he said, eyes locked on LeBron’s. 

“Yeah,” LeBron said, nodding. Steph’s stomach flipped over as the taller man stepped closer where they were chest-to-chest, and tilted Steph’s chin up to meet him, connecting their lips briefly, too soft for what they’d done just before. “See you.” 

Steph’s lips tingled, and he had goosebumps on his arms as he walked to the door, opening it without thinking as he headed down to the lobby, feeling like he was floating through time and space. That kind of softness wasn’t something he was familiar with, especially not after sex like that, and it was throwing him off and making him feel unsettled.

He felt increasingly unmoored as he drove back to the hotel, humming along to a song he’d never heard before on the radio, unable to think of anything but the feeling of LeBron’s lips on his own.

—————————————————————————

The next evening, almost exactly twenty-four hours later, he wound up in Klay’s hotel room after a long and draining day during which he’d spent too much time alone, given too much time to dwell on his feelings. After lying in bed for an hour feeling sorry for himself, he’d ended up texting Klay, asking if his offer of video games still stood. So, now, he was sitting quietly while Klay explained the controls of whatever game he was playing, absentmindedly eating popcorn he’d gotten from room service that afternoon.

“You okay, man?” Klay asked, once they’d gotten everything sorted out, Steph lying on his back with his head propped up on a stack of pillows next to Klay who was sitting with his back against the headboard, impossibly tall.

Steph muttered something incomprehensible, neither positive nor negative. He didn’t like to burden his teammates with his problems, especially those of his own creation, but Klay was different — they’d been close ever since the younger player had been drafted to the team, and had only grown closer over time.

“You sure about that?” Klay asked, bumping his knee against Steph’s. “You’ve been way too quiet. It’s lowkey stressing me out.” 

Klay knew when to press things as well as when to back off and just let Steph sulk in peace. Klay himself was much more unreadable, didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve as much as Steph did, but over time he’d gotten better at picking up on how the other man was feeling. Right now, he seemed completely relaxed, but maybe that was the wine they’d drunk.

Steph laughed, rubbing his eye with his fist. “I mean...I don’t know. Uh, recently...I hung out with that guy I told you about, who I used to hook up with,” he said, watching Klay’s expression for some sort of judgement. 

He’d told Klay what seemed like forever ago about having been hooking up with a guy on and off for years, when Klay had refused to drop it after Steph had shown up at practice annoyed and had still been annoyed after. So Klay knew the backstory, even if he didn’t know any real details. Some things had to stay a secret.

“Did you hook up with him again?” Klay asked, not looking surprised at all, which would’ve been kind of insulting if Steph had been the kind of person to feel insulted by things like that. “I thought you said you were done with that, or something.” 

Steph frowned, shaking his head. Even when he’d said he was done, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the next time LeBron texted him to come over, he wouldn’t even waste a second before texting back in the affirmative. Maybe it made him too easy, to jump whenever LeBron said, but he couldn’t imagine saying no. There was such a sort of magnetism to the older man that had drawn Steph in before they’d ever met, that had made Steph a fan. 

“That was a lie,” Steph admitted. “I was just pissed off.” Klay laughed at his honesty, lips curling up at the corners attractively. 

He had been pissed off. Because LeBron had turned him down for the first time ever, saying he was going out with some of his teammates and didn’t have time to see him after the game. So Steph had gone to complain to Klay who’d responded with a long-suffering sigh. He couldn’t have brought it up to LeBron, as he already knew what the other man’s response would’ve most likely been — some kind of smug comment mocking him for needing his dick that badly, or something. 

“Well, I don’t really get it,” Klay said, “‘cause I haven’t been in that situation, but you can’t let him make you upset, man. We just beat the Heat; you gotta be happy about that.” 

Steph shrugged, unable to explain that the guy he’d been annoyed with was _on_ the Heat. Still, he knew Klay was right. “I know, man,” he said. “In their own city, too.” Klay paused the game briefly to give him a quick fist-bump before he turned right back to it, looking relieved that he’d solved the problem and Steph felt fine now. 

He couldn’t shrug it off that easily himself. He’d felt like this about LeBron for years, some uncertain mix of hero-worship, lust, and the desire to impress him beyond all doubt.

It had started before college, even. Steph had been around the NBA his whole life, and with how much LeBron had been talked about when he’d finished high school and declared for the draft, news about him had been impossible to avoid. He remembered watching videos of LeBron dunking and imagining playing against someone that powerful, feeling kind of awestruck at the thought.

He, himself, rarely had felt powerful on the court, too small and not skilled enough (besides being a good shooter) growing up. He’d proved himself, though, in college, on the biggest stage he’d ever been on, in the tournament.

That’s when LeBron first noticed him, he guessed, but he wasn’t sure. When the other player had showed up at one of his games, he’d played ridiculously hard to try and impress him, and he remembered watching the game back and seeing the camera cut over to LeBron in the stands, watching. Watching him, he’d hoped.

He’d gotten to meet him and they’d exchanged numbers, as well as LeBron inviting him to one of his own games, which had Steph’s heart beating out of his chest as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. He’d been incredibly flustered and he could only imagine how he’d come across to LeBron, childish and nervous in the face of a superstar.

But however Steph had acted then, it had to pale in comparison to after his first NBA game against LeBron, when the other player had invited him out to eat after the game. He’d kind of expected LeBron to just wave politely at him and then disappear back into his locker room with his teammates. 

And then somehow, a couple hours later, he’d been pressed down between LeBron’s bare chest and a couch beneath him, letting the other player finger him open before fucking him, making Steph cum harder than he could remember. 

It was so unlikely, and yet felt so natural, that he couldn’t stop thinking about it for days after each time they met up — LeBron’s fingers digging into his hips, the taste and feel of his dick in Steph’s mouth, the open-mouthed pain that accompanied his first thrust into Steph’s body each time. 

A day later, with bruises on his hips and his neck, the marks were indelible, impossible to escape from, not that Steph was trying to. He liked it, liked feeling owned, liked imagining that LeBron cared enough about him to feel possessive and want to mark him up. Even though he assumed LeBron was fucking other people, had been all along, he liked knowing he stuck enough in the other player’s mind that he suggested meeting up almost every time they were in the same city.

And that’s why it had burned him up so bad when LeBron had brushed him off that one night in favor of going out to a club with his friends — those nights were all Steph had with him. They weren’t friends, didn’t hang out and play video games or watch movies like he and Klay did. And they were seldom even in the same state, LeBron all the way across the country on the east coast while Steph was stuck out in California.

So he’d gotten used to knowing that if LeBron was in town, he’d probably hit Steph up and invite him over to hook up. And the one time he hadn’t, Steph had gotten in his feelings about it, even if he’d made sure to act like it didn’t bother him in front of LeBron. He didn’t want to come off as clingy or entitled, wanted the other player to at least have some respect for him outside of wanting to fuck him.

And then there was the night before, when Steph had had the best sex of maybe the whole past year and he’d been flying high until LeBron had kicked him out, saying he was going out for drinks with some friends. He’d been pouty about it all night alone in his room — he’d refused to go so far as to cry himself to sleep over it, but he’d definitely come close.

—————————————————————————

“Twenty questions,” Klay said, breaking through his inner monologue, eyes trained fully on the game taking place on the screen in front of them. He mashed down a button quickly on the controller as he spoke — Steph wasn’t sure if he was aware of having spoken at all, face unchanged.

“What?” Steph asked, elbowing him in the side. Klay barely blinked, seeming not to have felt it, until Steph elbowed him again, harder this time, and he let out a pained hiss, smacking Steph’s arm with his free hand without looking. 

“Twenty questions,” Klay repeated. “Let me try and guess who it is. The guy you’re fucking.” 

Steph felt his face heat up for no reason and avoided the instinctual urge to chew on his fingernails. There was no way Klay could, or would, guess who it was, and there was also nothing that forced him to tell the truth. He was slightly surprised that Klay was curious enough to press the topic, but he guessed it was touchy enough of a subject to be interesting, especially to someone like Klay who liked to know everything about everything.

“Ten questions,” Steph shot back, not willing to give in fully. “What are you, a kid at a sleepover?” 

Klay snorted. “Ain’t that what this is?” he asked, looking over at Steph who was holding a container of popcorn in his lap, pillow propped behind his head sitting just inches away from Klay in bed. Steph rolled his eyes, but was forced to concede the point. “Fine, ten questions.” 

“Fire away,” Steph said, stretching his legs out in front of him, wrapping his hands behind his head as he leaned back, the picture of comfort, ignoring the nerves that had been bubbling beneath his skin since the night before. It helped that Klay wasn’t looking at him, was barely allotting half his brain function to this conversation, most of it fixed on whatever he was trying to accomplish in the game he was playing.

“He’s in the league?” Klay asked and Steph hummed his agreement. “That’s wild,” Klay said. “Imagine all the” — he cursed, tossing the controller onto the sheet between his legs, annoyed at something — “Imagine all the shit that goes on that we don’t know about. It’s crazy.” 

“Uh huh,” Steph said, raising an eyebrow at him. “You already knew that, though. Wasted a whole question, man.” Klay scoffed, waving a hand as if to admonish Steph for questioning his intellectual prowess. Steph smiled, grudgingly fond. Even if he was annoying at times, he could appreciate the unlikeliness of having someone on his team he could talk to like this, who made him feel comfortable.

“Okay,” Klay said, unaware of his thoughts, taking the controller back in hand and unpausing the game as he thought of his second question. “Have I heard of him, probably?” 

Steph was forced to laugh at that, imagining how surprised Klay would be if he actually knew, if anyone knew. It barely sounded believable, really, for him to be regularly hooking up with one of the greatest players ever — Steph himself barely believed it when he thought about it for too long, always ended up dissecting everything he remembered LeBron saying when they were together, looking for secret motives, slights he’d missed. 

“Definitely,” Steph said, still laughing. “You think I’m hooking up with some G-league type dude?” 

Klay let out an unfocused laugh. “Damn, alright,” he said. “Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings there. Question three. He in the east or the west?” 

“East,” Steph replied, eyelids blinking slowly, growing more and more sleepy by the second. Wine always made him tired, made him want to just bury himself in bed for a few hours, turn all the lights off. Klay seemed unaffected, as he did by most things. 

“Is it...” Klay trailed off. “DeMar DeRozan. From your draft class.” 

“No,” Steph said yawning, smiling at the idea. “Good guess, but he’s older. Been in the league for a while.” 

“So’ve you,” Klay responded. “You’re old, too. I’m fuckin’ drunk, man. I can’t think of anybody else. Who the fuck plays in the east?” 

“Be quiet and let me go to sleep, then,” Steph said, rolling over onto his stomach and closing his eyes firmly, side pressed against Klay’s legs, absorbing his body heat, face smushed sideways into a pillow. “You know I can’t tell you, anyways.” 

”Yeah,” Klay. “I get it. But, like, I support you, dude. You know that.” His hand rested briefly on Steph’s back, massaging his shoulder for a split second before retreating.

Steph scrunched his face up as he unwillingly felt tears prick at his eyes, hands bunching up in the sheets beneath him, feeling achy all over, still sore from the treatment of LeBron the day before.

”Thanks, man,” he muttered, clearing his throat to hide his emotions. Klay let the matter drop after that, falling back under the sway of the game he was playing, leaving Steph to stew beside him.

He felt emotionally worn out, tired from thinking about what things meant, reading too much into things LeBron certainly hadn’t thought much about.

He doubted LeBron was thinking about him at all — surely he couldn’t have been. Steph was the one that looked up to him, the one that wanted to impress him. LeBron wasn’t thinking about it at all, he was sure of it.

But he couldn’t supress the lingering flutter of hope in his stomach—especially after the kiss the night before—that maybe he was leaving an imprint on the other player, that it wasn’t that far-fetched an idea that LeBron might have been thinking about him too.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u guys liked this! i plan on there being 2 more parts to this series but that may change, idk. 
> 
> also omg lebron's taco tuesday video today was so funny lmao


End file.
